Waiting, Alone
by How Beautifully Blue the Sky
Summary: From Harry's first introduction to the Order to the final Battle of Hogwarts, Ginny is forced to wait in ignorance as her family and friends fight Voldemort and risk their lives. This is a series of canon scenes exploring her relegation outside the Order, including her wait at the Burrow during the Battle of Seven Potters and her time in hiding at Muriel's.
1. The Battle of Seven Potters

Ginny knew about the extraction, but only through sheer tenacity and quite a lot of haranguing. _I'm older than Ron was when you told him all about the Order_ hadn't worked with her mother. Neither had _These are my brothers and my father, and I deserve to know what's happening. _

Fred and George would probably have told her, but they were in and out of the house at all hours. When they came to dinner, it was usually with Bill and Fleur, and then all other talk was subsumed by wedding preparations. Her mother had perfected her strategy of division, forcing her brothers out into the garden for neverending grooming, while keeping Ginny in the kitchen.

Ginny would have complained, but completing without magic the unappealing tasks of wrangling tall grass to a respectable height or halting the advancing dandelion infestation was distasteful enough she didn't fight staying in the cool kitchen. Then, her mother would all but shoo the twins out the door, proclaiming all the while she wished they'd stay the night.

Ron, however, was an easier target. It had been easy to wheedle out of him that Harry would be arriving with Moody in a few weeks. Several days before the event, however, an impromptu Order meeting held in the Burrow kitchen, with several harried members hustling in and out had made it quite clear to Ginny the plan was seriously altered.

She went back to Ron. While he'd put up a surly front, with a bit of coaxing, a bit of righteous indignation, and a threat or two of Hermione's pending arrival and inevitable tell-all, he'd finally told her the whole, changed proposition: the Polyjuice potion, the harrowing night travel, and the date.

A strange sort of balance then existed with her mother. She knew Ginny knew this tidbit of Order business, but still insisted on banishing her from the kitchen during informal meetings. And yet, even her mother seemed to acknowledge the particular cruelty of allowing four of her brothers, her future sister-in-law, her father, her ex-boyfriend, and one of her best friends to all risk their lives on a single night without Ginny knowing about it. _She's glad I know_, Ginny surmised, _she's just happy she doesn't have to tell me about it. _

The days crept forward. Hermione arrived. Ginny tried exactly once to ask why she, Ron, and Harry weren't going back to Hogwarts. As usual, they were sharing a bedroom, so Hermione was her one consistent source of information.

"Ginny, I can't tell you," Hermione had said matter-of-factly. "This isn't secretive Order business; I'm not your mum. We're not telling anybody – so no, it's not Ron's weird fraternal instinct kicking in, either. I'll tell you anything you want to know about what else the Order is up to, but not this."

Her answer was so respectfully straightforward, Ginny accepted it.

Ginny alternated between steadfastly avoiding imagining the days after Harry's extraction, and daydreaming incessantly about the interstitial between his arrival at the Burrow and departure for his mysterious quest. _Nothing will happen_. _You _know_ nothing will happen. _Still, he would be there: at the breakfast table, passing her on the narrow stairs, playing games with Ron and Hermione in the evenings, brushing his teeth in the cramped bathroom – not a romantic activity, to be sure, but one so homely and comforting she felt her stomach tighten in anticipation. She knew they couldn't go to their usual haunt to play Quidditch anymore, but she daydreamed about that too.

Those images flooded her mind when she let her guard down. Usually, once she acknowledged the fantasies, she could stop them. She didn't _know_ Harry would be coming, because this ridiculous, foolhardy to the extreme, convoluted plan had to work first. While she and her mother waited at home.

Thinking of that upcoming helpless evening made her too angry, so she usually had to redirect her thoughts from that too.

On the evening of the extraction, dinner was quiet, just her brothers, Hermione, Fleur, and her parents. They didn't want any Death Eaters keeping an eye on the perimeter of the Burrow to act when fifteen Order members left the property at once and Disapparated. Better, they'd agreed, to Apparate separately, meet in a secluded location, and depart for Harry's together.

The silence had stretched on so long at dinner that Hermione actually jumped when Ginny's mother said, "What shall we do for Harry's birthday next week?"

Ginny frowned and started, "Mum, let's not –"

At the same time, Fleur said, "Yes! I wouldn't want 'im to feel overlooked."

There was another uncomfortable silence.

Valiantly, her mother tried again. "Ron – Hermione – what do you think? What would he like?"

"Honestly, mum, I don't think he'll want anything," Ron said after a pause. "Dinner and cake, I s'pose?"

Hermione nodded vigorously beside Ron but was otherwise uncharacteristically silent.

Fleur continued, "It is the day before the wedding, is it not? I'll 'ave to remind my parents to bring 'im a gift."

Another pause. Ginny ate a very large forkful of shepherd's pie, in case her mother planned on grilling her next.

Her father broke the silence this time. "Let's just ask him what he wants when he gets here, shall we, dear?"

"Good idea," put in Bill.

"We're getting him a pygmy puff," said Fred.

"Yeah, we're naming it Ginny," said George, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"In case he gets lonely," said Fred.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I don't think Harry would remember to feed a pygmy puff," she said dismissively.

Once more, the conversation lapsed. This time, her mother ducked her head, scooping herself another portion of beans.

The moment it seemed useful and not rude, Ginny jumped up with her plate, stacking Fleur's and Hermione's on top of her own, and brought them to the kitchen. Immediately, there was a bustle of activity as the others followed her lead.

"I'll go now," her father said. "To the hill. I'll see you all there." Ginny thought they were meeting the others at a hill north of the village, near their old Quidditch haunt. After a long embrace each with her mother and Ginny, he left, walking to the edge of the property and Disapparating.

"Bill and Fleur, you two had better go next," her mother said. "Then Fred and George. Then Ron and Hermione."

Two by two over the next half hour, the pairs Disapparated. Bill seemed the most at ease, saying calmly to Ginny and her mother, "Don't worry, you two. Please. This is routine. We'll all be back in just a few hours." Her mother attempted unsuccessfully to hide a large sniff. Fred and George laughed at their own jokes, as they usually did, but Ginny couldn't join them. Ron's hug was perfunctory and awkward; Hermione's, only slightly less so. Hermione was not a hugger; it somehow made Ginny feel worse that she thought the danger of this mission deserved a goodbye embrace. So much for Bill's assurances.

It had been so much different, when they were at Grimmauld Place. She had worried, of course, thinking of her father and Lupin and Tonks standing guard, to keep You-Know-Who from acquiring his weapon. But she hadn't felt like she did now, so cold she was shaking, hardly able to keep her head clear or carry on a conversation. Was it because the overwhelming air of mystery that had tinged the Order's activities had lent it all a whimsical, almost gamelike quality as she and the others tried to decipher scraps of information? Was it because only her father had been directly involved in missions then? Or was it because she had hardly understood the stakes? Nobody had died yet. Dumbledore was still leading them. Harry had been there, safe.

Now, she and her mother were alone. Ginny couldn't look at her. She sat back down in a kitchen chair and put her palms to her cheekbones. Her hands were cold, her cheeks flaming. The temperature difference pricked the beginnings of a headache in her temple.

Unbidden, a fantasy flooded her mind. Harry's birthday, the day before the wedding. Everyone was there – Tonks, Lupin, all her brothers – Charlie, too, and Percy, in this daydream – Harry, Hermione, even the Delacours. All laughing, crowded inside the kitchen, singing Happy Birthday to Harry, her mother slicing the cake, and Harry catching her eye over his gifts and smiling…

She usually cut off her thoughts here, forced them to return to more neutral topics. It was tempting fate, to think so openly of a happy future that might be shattered, might be crumbling to pieces even now, might be hurtling toward the Earth like one of her brothers' bodies –

_Stop. _She forced her mind back to the image of the birthday party. She would play it over and over again, on repeat if she had to. She would not think about the Order of the Phoenix.

"Let's make some paper decorations for the wedding," her mother said, cutting into her thoughts.

Ginny removed one hand from her face and looked blearily at her mother. "What sort of decorations?"

"Lanterns, flowers, garlands…whatever you like," said her mother. "Fleur bought some gold paper the other day."

"Fleur can probably charm the scissors to make the decorations in about five seconds," Ginny pointed out. Usually, she hated it when her mother insisted they embark on a project without using magic for Ginny's sake. She found it inefficient and condescending; it was a surefire way to spark a fight between them. When she reflected after the arguments, though, she had to admit that her mother, who'd had underage children for well over twenty years, had incredible patience for the inefficiencies of doing all sorts of tasks by hand.

Tonight, though, Ginny found herself welcoming the distraction. When her mother responded, "I'm sure Fleur could, but I want to get started on them tonight," Ginny acquiesced easily.

She glanced at her watch. Six forty-five.

"The first portkey is due back…" she began.

"Nine o'clock," her mother replied, almost absentmindedly, seemingly without even considering obfuscating or fussing about how much Ginny knew.

Two hours. Interminable.

Taking the scissors to the gold paper was surprisingly calming; her hands were no longer shaking.

"We can charm these, of course," her mother commented, "make them shimmer a bit, make the lanterns glow, or the icicles twirl…I should think they'll be quite clever-looking in the end."

After a while, her mother stood up from the table and went back to the stove. "They may be quite hungry, depending. Ron and Hermione hardly touched their dinners. I might as well knock something else up. It'll keep until tomorrow."

After preparing dinner and vanishing it with a flick of her wand – Ginny was always impressed with her mother's food storage spells – and Ginny had covered the table with decorations, silence fell again. Ginny stood, awkwardly, gathered up the paper in her arms, and deposited it in the cluttered corner of the living room devoted to wedding supplies.

She and her mother fought, often. Ginny knew she bristled too quickly when speaking with her, that she extended her mother less patience than she gave even her brothers, that she was often unreasonable. But she couldn't change her behavior. She felt she'd made a genuine effort, but still, they snipped at each other with a depressing frequency. This summer, with the wedding preparations, it had been even worse.

Tonight, though, they were united. It hadn't always been like this, even recently. A few times earlier this summer when just Bill and her father had gone on a reconnaissance mission, or when Fred and George had let slip they'd received a death threat at the shop, she and her mother had one worry-fueled fight after another, ostensibly about cleaning or Ginny's school supplies for next year or, as ever, the wedding.

Tonight was different. She figured it was because all of them, nearly their whole family, their closest friends, were risking their lives in one night.

She checked her watch. Eight thirty-seven.

She turned on the radio. She sat back down at the kitchen table. Her mother sat opposite.

Eight thirty-nine.

Ginny put her head down on her arms.

Slowly, agonizingly, the minutes passed. At eight fifty-three, Ginny migrated to the back steps. In the darkness, she could see all the way to the dim lights of the village. It was overcast; there were no stars.

At eight fifty-nine, her mother joined her. They stood together, surveying the darkness, waiting. Alone.

Finally, finally, a blue glow illuminated the backyard for a moment, and an oil can appeared on the lawn.

That was it. It took less than a second. The garden was just as dark as it had been a moment before. No one had come.

Ginny had hardly registered what the lone Portkey meant – _something went wrong, something went horribly wrong_ – when her mother choked beside her. "Ron," she whispered.

"Ron? Ron and who?" Ginny's response was too loud, shrill and panicky, especially compared to her mother's tone.

"Ron and Tonks," her mother said, sinking down onto the step. Her hand floated toward her mouth. "They're meant to come at intervals, five minutes apart. Fred and your dad are next."

"Where were they meant to be?"

"Auntie Muriel's." Her mother was still whispering, staring determinedly at the oil can, as though Ron might emerge from it.

"Well then," Ginny sad, rising, "We need to contact them. We can use Floo powder – I can go, or I can just stick my head in and see what's going on –"

"No!" Her mother's voice was absolute, containing none of the quivering panic of a moment ago. "We agreed, it's not safe. If Death Eaters are there, they could come here. And they'd know we're conspiring together. The Burrow wouldn't be safe anymore. We can't do anything until we talk to Mad-Eye, or Kingsley, at least."

_If they come_, Ginny thought darkly, before she could stop herself.

"Then – what? We just wait for Dad and Fred?"

"Tonks and Ron can fly here, it's not that far. If it's safe." Her mother scanned the skies. Ginny did too, expecting to see a patrolling Death Eater or two circling above them, beyond the Burrow's invisible protection.

Ginny sank back onto the steps, staring intently out over the garden for signs of the second Portkey or brooms coming out of the distance. She thought of Ron's uncomfortable, one-armed hug, followed by him slipping off his broom and falling, picking up speed as he neared the Earth…

_Stop. Birthday._

Harry smiling at her over cake, Ron beside him, clapping him on the back as they finished singing…Harry, hit with a jet of green light, toppling backwards off his broom…

_Birthday. _Cake. Presents. Harry.

"Oh!" Her mother pointed to a second blue glow, streaking toward them. Immediately, Ginny could tell it brought nobody to them. It fell weightlessly, the shoe bouncing once on the ground before falling on its side.

They were still alone.

Her mother began to cry. It was silent; Ginny didn't even realize until she heard a long, shaky breath. When she glanced over, the light emanating from the kitchen caught the tear tracks on her mother's face.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Her mother didn't even lift her head at Ginny's vulgarity. "Okay," she said, letting her breath out sharply. "Okay. If the next one comes back empty, we're contacting someone. Where should Moody or Kingsley be?" She couldn't consider an Order of the Phoenix where both of them were gone.

"They were each meant to go to their own houses," her mother said. "Harry and Hagrid should be back next. Then George and Remus."

She refused to consider Harry's impending arrival. She would not hope. She would not wait. She would spend the next four minutes acting.

"I'm going to write a note. Except it'll take Pig hours to get to Moody's. I'll have him to go to Aunt Muriel's first, in case Tonks is there…"

She reentered the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers, finding a spare bit of paper and some ink. This accomplished, she tried to write with shaking hands:

_Tonks – If you get this, Fred, Dad, Harry, and Hagrid haven't returned. Don't know where you and Ron are. Let us know what's going on. Please – _

Her mother gasped. "Another one's coming – oh, thank heavens, they're here! Oh!" Her voice grew louder in palpable relief. Ginny stood up so quickly she knocked over her chair, and sprinted to the door, down the steps, toward the two figures collapsed on the grass.

"Harry!"

"Harry! Hagrid!"

It was hard to see anything in the shadowy garden, especially after the blue light faded. They were too far away from the light of the kitchen for Ginny to see Harry properly. He was awake, and so was Hagrid, and they were both clambering gingerly to their feet, seemingly uninjured.

She wanted to throw her arms around him and verify for herself his apparent health, but even amidst the relief and persistent panic, she couldn't help but remember that the last time she'd seen him, they'd been breaking up, and her compunction over maintaining her dignity kept her on her feet and at a distance.

"Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?" Her mother fired their questions off at Harry before she had the chance.

"What do you mean? Isn't anyone else back?" Harry responded, breathing hard.

In the moment before Harry continued, Ginny imagined a slew of terrifying possibilities, ranging from Death Eaters waiting at each safe house, unbeknownst to Harry, to some sabotage or slow-acting curse targeting the others in Harry's guard.

"The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Harry continued. "We were surrounded the moment we took off – they knew it was tonight – I don't know what happened to anyone else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us –"

About what she'd been imagining all night then, curses shooting toward her brothers, followed by terrible, mortal falls.

Her mother pulled Harry into a hug, murmuring, "Thank goodness you're all right," and left them to fetch brandy at Hagrid's request. Ginny wished she could hug Harry as easily, as thoughtlessly, but it had always been different for her, always, except for those glorious two months when she could touch him when she liked and he could respond in kind.

Now, though, he was entirely focused. There was no tenderness in his eyes; she could tell he was not vapidly debating whether to hug her, and she felt a shudder of shame for her superficiality.

"Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them. And that one should have been Dad and Fred's." She kept her tone as businesslike as possible. "You and Hagrid were third and if they made it, George and Lupin ought to be back in about a minute."

Before any awkwardness could settle over them, her mother returned and Hagrid conspicuously guzzled the brandy. Ginny didn't meet Harry's eyes, instead continuing to scan the grass. Relief flooded her as she saw the approaching portkey with two figures – "Mum!" – but the relief quickly changed to horror as she realized one of them was injured.

George. Lupin stood, arm around her brother's shoulders, George slumped against him. She couldn't tell how he was injured, just that he was covered in blood, and she stood frozen while Harry rushed past her to help Lupin carry him. She followed after them numbly, looking to help, but they muscled him up the steps, through the kitchen, and into the sitting room.

His ear was gone. She gasped involuntarily, stumbling through the last two steps toward him, but her mother beat her there, draping her entire body over George's unconscious form. Ginny's eyes were locked on George's closed ones; there was so much blood, and it was still seeping out of his head, rolling in fresh rivulets down his neck.

"Get some bandages, Ginny," her mother ordered. "We have rags in the closet on the landing. And hot water. _Accio Dittany!_ We don't have much, but it should be enough to stop the bleeding, at least."

Ginny obeyed without thinking, sprinting up the stairs, dimly aware of Harry and Lupin's raised voices in the kitchen, and narrowly avoiding the tiny bottle of dittany flying past her head down the stairs. She knew dittany was extraordinarily expensive, and that her mother saved it only in case of emergencies; she could only recall its use twice in her life.

She fumbled through the closet, found the rags, and took an old sheet for good measure. She hurried back down the steps and dumped them at her mother's feet on the sofa before heading into the kitchen. Harry and Lupin seemed to be arguing heatedly, but she ignored them, filling a pot with water and clanged it onto the range, before impatiently waiting for the tap water to heat and filling a second bowl to take back out to the sitting room.

She'd never done any Healing, had never been present or administered first aid for any major injuries, really. And yet, it was surprising – though gratifying – to her how calm she felt. George was here, and he was injured. She could help treat his injury. That was enough, for now. Best not to think of Ron.

"Good," her mother said curtly when she arrived back at George's side. "Thank you. Please go back to the kitchen and find my first aid book, you know, the big red one. I don't think I should use any more of our dittany, in case someone else needs it, but the bleeding has mostly stopped. I think a Sealing Spell should be fine. And bring the Mrs. Palmore's." Ginny fetched the book and the bottle of disinfectant.

"Start washing off the blood with the rags," her mother continued. "Then put some of the Palmore's on a clean rag and wash the skin around his ear with that." Without waiting to see Ginny begin the tasks, she turned away from George, lifted her wand, and spoke directly into it. "_Arthur, George is hurt. Come home immediately._" She muttered an incantation Ginny couldn't catch, and a silvery Patronus slipped away, into the kitchen, and out of the house.

"We can't grow the ear back, Mum?" Ginny asked, somewhat timidly. As she washed the blood of George's face, she was relieved to see no more seeped out of the dark hole where his ear had been. Before her mother answered, she registered a new voice in the kitchen – Hermione's, repeating, "Lost an _ear_?" – and felt a fresh surge of relief.

"This has been cursed off," her mother said, thumbing through the pages of her first aid book. "Have you disinfected yet? We need to do that before I can seal it," she added impatiently.

"Not yet," Ginny said, hurriedly upending the disinfectant over a fresh rag. George didn't stir, even when she pressed it against his injury, and she felt a twist of anxiety. He must be deeply unconscious, if he couldn't feel the burn of the alcohol… why hadn't he come back to them yet?

"Move your fingers," her mother said, and, when she did, pointed her wand at George's ear hole and muttered, "_Sementium._" Ginny saw no change, but her mother looked pleased. "That should have healed what we can internally, at least."

"How is he?"

Harry's question startled Ginny; she turned and he was there. This was the first time she'd seen him properly in the light. He looked exhausted and his shirt was stained with blood. She wasn't sure if it was George's or his own.

"I can't make it grow back, not when it's been removed by Dark Magic. But it could have been so much worse…he's alive."

Ginny took comfort from her mother's words. From her mother's frantic pace, she had been not at all sure George's survival was certain – she had been imagining all manner of ghastly spells, the effects of which could even now be coursing through George's veins. Her mother sounded confident, though, and Ginny wanted to believe her, so she did.

"Yeah. Thank God."

Ginny asked, "Did I hear someone else in the yard?"

"Hermione and Kingsley."

"Thank goodness." She assumed they were unharmed, or Harry would have said. Harry was looking at her as though seeing her properly tonight for the first time, just as she'd given him a once-over moments before. She glanced down at her hands, dried blood under her fingernails, and at her newly stained shirt. She wanted to ask about Ron, and she wanted to kiss Harry. Before she could decide on a course of action, she heard her father's voice, and he rushed into the sitting room, followed by Fred. He had clearly received her mother's message via Patronus; he looked more frightened than Ginny had ever seen him, and the relief she felt at seeing him and Fred was mitigated by renewed fear for George.

Still, all she could think about was Ron. Bill's Portkey hadn't yet arrived, he could still be safe, but Ron… Ron should have been back. She realized, belatedly, she hadn't sent Pig off with her notes, had been interrupted by Harry's return. She knew Ron and Tonks would come as soon as they could, regardless of any note, but she felt as though she'd failed.

Her father and Fred were looking at George's body. Her mother had started to cry with the arrival of her father, but he had eyes only for George. Ginny put her hand on her mother's shoulder, just as George opened his eyes.

"How do you feel, Georgie?"

George hesitated for a moment, feeling his injury. "Saintlike," he mumbled.

"What's wrong with him?" Fred cried. "Is his mind affected?"

Ginny, however, shot both brothers a sharp glance. Surely she could hear some of George's usual good humor in his voice? Certainly it was convincingly groggy, but she'd lived with the twins long enough to see a joke setup coming. But if she could hear it, Fred certainly could, and he was plainly horrified.

"Saintlike…I'm holy. _Holey_, Fred, get it?"

Ginny smirked, vindication sweeping through her, for one half second before she remembered Ron. No one else in the room seemed to find George's joke even as funny as she did, even as Fred hid a smile and shot back a retort. _Perhaps, though_, she scolded herself, _they simply haven't forgotten as easily as you the gravity of the situation. Ron, Tonks, Bill, Fleur, Mundungus, Moody. There's nothing to laugh about._

Indeed, the smile evaporated from even George's face as her mother repeated Ginny's thoughts to him. Her father managed an impressively stoic expression, though she knew the worry raged in him just as fiercely as it did in the rest of them. Lupin looked _old_, as he so often did when very harried or stressed, the lines around his eyes giving him a truly haggard appearance.

But Harry…Harry looked the worst. His eyes were red, from held-back tears or exhaustion. He had a smear of dried blood under his chin, and he looked positively haunted, staring out into space, past the scene on the couch. He clearly felt hideously guilty, and she knew he was wallowing.

Suddenly, his eyes focused on her, immediately guarded. She knew he was still on the brink of despair, but he seemed determined to maintain a façade of control. He gestured that they should walk through the kitchen, and her heart leapt despite herself.

"Ron and Tonks should be back by now. They didn't have a long journey; Auntie Muriel's not that far from here." She wanted to interrogate him, ask if he was sure he didn't see anything happen to Ron and Tonks – how could he not have _seen_? – but the look on his face stopped her. The guilt was back, but now panic joined it, the same panic she'd seen on her mother's face all evening after the first Portkey came back. He was drowning in it.

Without thinking, without letting herself consider the propriety of her actions or how he would think of her, she walked forward, took his hand, and led him into the garden to keep watching for the others. His hand was icy; it didn't give off the enveloping warmth she'd come to expect from him, and she wanted to hold it in both of hers to warm it, pull him closer and slide one hand under his shirt so he could feel her warmth, and draw from her. But this, holding hands, was enough for now.

She and Harry stood with the others outside, scanning the sky, just as Ginny and her mother had all evening. They were waiting still. But this time, they were not alone.

The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly. A weathered brick and mangled watering can had joined the other junk on the grass; Ginny could only assume those were the missed Portkeys of Bill and Fleur, and Moody and Mundungus. It was hard to feel any more worry and fear. Ginny wanted to suggest again someone go to Auntie Muriel's to check on them, but Kingsley intimidated her, and if her mother had rejected that plan, certainly he would too. Still, though, she couldn't stand here doing nothing. She could finish her note and send it on with Pig, at least –

"It's them!" Hermione's cry cut into her thoughts, and Harry's hand jumped inside hers. Indeed, Ron and Tonks were landing in the garden. Tonks ran into Lupin's arm, and Ron rushed toward Hermione, who met him, and Ginny tried to ignore the twin stabs of envy and hurt, but she couldn't. Harry hadn't run to embrace her when he'd arrived; in fact, he'd shown her mother more tenderness. His cold skin felt suddenly clammy in hers, and she pulled her hand away in time to receive a one-armed hug from Ron, more hearty than the one he'd left her with, but made more difficult by Hermione still clinging to him.

"Ron was great," Tonks said. "Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you're aiming at a moving target from a flying broom…"

"You did?" Hermione asked, not moving from her embrace.

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron responded, and extricated himself, but not, Ginny noticed, without tenderly cupping the back of Hermione's head, just for a moment, and shifting her body by guiding her with a hand on her waist to his side. "Are we the last back?"

She couldn't help it. She was angry. Angry at Harry for breaking up with her, for his aloofness even in their reunion, for his apparent steadfast desire to keep his promise and stay away from her. He stood not twelve inches from her, hand dangling uselessly at his side, showing no inclination to take her hand back. She knew she was being petty, but, goddamn it, she was _pissed_.

"No," said Ginny. "We're still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I'm going to tell Mum and Dad you're okay, Ron."

She hurried back into the sitting room. George was sitting up now, Fred next to him. Her mother was sitting on the couch's arm, and her father had his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. Unbelievably, Ginny felt tears pricking at her eyes. No doubt she was overwrought and overtired, she figured, and she was just relieved Ron was safe.

"Ginny?" her mother said in alarm.

"No, no, don't worry – Ron is back, he's fine, and so is Tonks," Ginny said in a rush, wiping desperately at her eyes. "No sign of Bill, Fleur, Moody, or Mundungus."

Her mother jumped to her feet to run out to Ron; Fred didn't move.

"Tell Ron to come in here," he said, and Ginny nodded once.

She followed her parents back outside, listening to her mother thank Lupin and Tonks, combing the skies anxiously for Bill. The last of her family. He was so much older than her he was more like a hip uncle, coming into and out of her life with cool mystery at holidays. She didn't have the same snappy repartees with him that she had with Ron and the twins and Percy, but he was still her brother, an omnipresent figure at Christmases and the occasional birthday or holiday.

Finally, Hermione's cry caught her attention, and she saw Bill, streaking towards the ground on a thestral, Fleur behind him, and for just a moment, she felt unadulterated relief. They were fine.

Moody and Mundungus were still gone, and George was missing an ear, and she and Harry were broken up, but Bill was back. Her family was still whole. And she had survived the night of waiting, alone, to find out if her family would come back to her.

* * *

_Welcome! I'm envisioning this as a 5-6 chapter fic, not necessarily chronological, of various missing moments in Deathly Hallows. They won't all be times when Ginny is literally waiting out some Order mission, but they'll reflect on her sense of helplessness and attempts to empower herself as she goes back to school and the Order continues their work. __Subscribe to come along on the journey, and as always, let me know what you think with a review :-)_

_I'm recently returned to the world of fanfiction, so I also encourage you to check out my other oneshot, a rather fluffy Harry/Ginny fic several years post-DH. I'll also be posting a post-war Neville fic soon, so keep an eye out if that strikes your fancy!_


	2. Easter Holidays

Ginny regretted her decision to leave her broomstick at Hogwarts the instant she stepped inside the Burrow and was ambushed.

Her father had taken her back to the Burrow with Side-Along Apparition. He'd greeted her warmly, hugged her perhaps a moment too long, and turned on the spot, guiding her by the elbow. When she stepped inside the kitchen of the Burrow, she saw her mother waiting for her and received a perfunctory hug. Then her mother said, "Dad and I would like to talk with you."

That was the moment Ginny knew.

Neville had suspected as much; they'd discussed it shortly before she left for the Easter holidays. "Your parents will probably want you not to come back," he'd said, in the deserted Gryffindor common room.

"I don't think so," she'd said flippantly. "They didn't say anything about it at Christmas."

"They didn't say anything about Luna?" Neville asked incredulously. "You're neighbors!"

"Of course they were worried for Luna. My mum brought her dad a basket of food. Invited him round for New Year's, too, I think. He didn't come though. But they didn't say anything about me."

"It's not hard to make the comparison," Neville said.

Ginny had to be careful around Neville when speaking about her family. He was not, officially in the Order, nor did he know it existed, though he'd certainly figured out her parents were involved in some sort of informal resistance operation. He never pressed, and always backtracked if he asked an inadvertently leading question, but that evening he'd seemed committed to making his point.

"Whatever your parents are up to, they know it's putting you in danger," he'd said. "More students are leaving every week. And I'm sure they're scared about the DA stuff."

Ginny had shaken her head. "What we're doing here is really important. I'll be back."

She didn't know why she was being deliberately obtuse. Her parents' letters since Christmas had been useless since they put nothing in writing, but she knew they worried. She hadn't told them about the Carrows' detention practices, but they'd found out somehow – probably through friends of theirs – and her mother had begged her at Christmas to avoid all trouble. With difficulty, she'd managed not to snap back a retort about how _they_ were risking their lives with their activities every day. The conversation was left unresolved.

She wanted to ignore it, but her conversation with Neville niggled in the back of her mind while she was packing, and she found herself bringing items she'd normally leave behind for just a long weekend at home – a novel or two, some letters from the year. She deposited Arnold into his cage, too, even though she'd been planning to leave him behind for Demelza, one of her roommates, to feed and cuddle. Demelza loved Arnold and had been overjoyed when Ginny had suggested she take care of him for a few days.

She'd left her broomstick though, as a sign of obstinacy that she'd be returning, and because she felt it would be conspicuous to carry on the train.

Now, back at the kitchen table with her parents sitting on either side of her, Ginny was cornered.

"We want you to stay here after Easter," her mother began, getting straight to the point.

"It's not just Xenophilius and Luna," her father added. "Two siblings in Hufflepuff disappeared two weeks ago. So did their parents. Their mother is dead. We don't know if the kids and their father are in hiding."

"Rose and Cynthia Zeller," Ginny said. "I know. Cynthia is my friend." And a newly recruited DA member, who'd gone on more than one midnight vandalism sojourn with Ginny herself.

She wanted to be shocked that her parents, fanatical to the point of obsession about her education, were taking this approach. And yet, she understood their point. She didn't agree with it, certainly, and she had no intention of acceding to their plan, but it _was_ dangerous at Hogwarts, protected though she was by her blood status.

She wasn't sure which approach to take with them. Clearly, they'd formulated a strategy and were presenting a united front. Bringing their plan up now gave them the entirety of the long weekend to coax, cajole, and order her with varying degrees of severity to stay home. She could emphasize her work with Dumbledore's Army, appeal to their sense of patriotism, and try to make them see the importance of continuing to undermine the Death Eaters' rule at Hogwarts. But, she reasoned, that could worry them inordinately; it could definitely backfire.

Her other alternative was to downplay the DA – as she'd been doing since the year began – and emphasize her ostensible desire for normalcy, beginning with her finishing out the year. That seemed the wiser course, for now. Plus: "It's illegal not to attend Hogwarts now," she pointed out. "I'd have to hide here indefinitely. They'd come looking for me. Dad, wouldn't they target you and Bill if I went missing?"

"We're planning for that contingency anyway," her father said. "It's only a matter of time before they realize Ron isn't upstairs. And that's obviously not the only activity they suspect our family is doing."

"But this could be _years_!" Ginny retorted, surprised at this response. "You can't all go into hiding on my account."

"Your father and I have been planning this," her mother said soothingly. "He can't stay at work much longer anyway. Dear, you're in danger at school. You must know that."

"I know it's important for me to be there." Ginny chose her words carefully. "I haven't been doing anything unsafe, honestly, Mum." She felt her temper rising, but fought to tamp it down. It would _not_ be helpful to fight with her parents right now. Not while they were being reasonable.

"Ginny, I want to treat you like an adult," her father said, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Clearly a rehearsed line, intended to mitigate their frequent clashes over how much she knew about the Order's activities. "It's not just your actions at school – and we know what you've been doing with Neville Longbottom, Xenophilius told us," he added as an aside. "We're being watched, constantly. They know about the Order, and that we're part of it. We're not being unreasonable in thinking you could be targeted like Luna."

"If you know what Dumbledore's Army is doing, then you know why it's so important I go back! Death Eaters are trying to indoctrinate students, and everyone who disagrees is too scared to say anything, except for us!"

"Please be serious, Ginny, petty vandalism and mouthing off to teachers isn't saving Hogwarts –"

"_How _can you say that?" Ginny cried, her attempt at moderation forgotten. "What about the first years learning how stupid Muggles are? What about kids learning Unforgivable Curses and torturing other students? Anything that questions the Death Eaters is helping the Order, Mum, and I can't _believe_ you'd tell me I'm wasting my time!"

Breathing hard, deeply hurt, Ginny stood up from the table. "I _need_ to go back. I need to do my part, same as you, same as everyone else in the family!"

"We're not asking you to decide tonight," her mother said, shooting a warning glance at her father, who often had a far lower tolerance for angry outbursts than she did. Undoubtedly, a cooling-off period was also part of her parents' plan. "Let's discuss this more later."

Ginny narrowly stopped herself from shooting back a retort about whether they were _discussing_, or whether her parents were simply _ordering_, but she knew that would only aggravate her father and exasperate her mother, who had become particularly short-fused on the subject dealing with four underage children since the Order's re-inception.

"I'm going to let Arnold out in my room," she said stiffly. "He's been trapped in his cage since I left school."

In her bedroom, she opened Arnold's cage with clumsy fingers and he nuzzled her hand playfully before dashing across her bed and skittering across the floor. She wasn't amused by his antics.

She didn't want to admit it, but it was tempting to go along with her parents and leave Hogwarts. The detentions after trying to steal the Sword of Gryffindor had been brutal, but she had endured them, hadn't she? More wearying was the constant burden of fear: of the Carrows searching her dormitory and finding freshly copied fliers, urging support for Harry and Dumbledore's Army; of being forced to confess other DA members' names with Veritaserum, as Carrow had threatened more than once, and spending feverish hours in the library searching for a way to defend herself against it; of researching for and organizing the clandestine Muggle Studies lessons they'd been trying to hold for younger students, and identifying strategies to approach them without endangering themselves. Every day was long, and she hadn't been sleeping well; her stress had only increased since Luna had disappeared.

Staying at the Burrow could be easy. She'd turn seventeen in just a few months, and then she could properly join the Order and really get to work. Maybe it wouldn't be so consequential to miss these few months.

But Neville. How could she desert him? He couldn't possibly carry on by himself, and for all her parents thought of her as a firebrand, she was the one who tempered Neville's boldness, even foolhardiness. And sure, if she stayed here at home, she'd know what her parents were doing when they were here, but they'd surely be in and out on Order business, and she'd be left in an empty house, with no idea where they were, fantasizing nightmarishly about them, and Neville, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and the rest of the Order.

At least at Hogwarts, she didn't have time to wallow. And damn it, she believed what she'd told her mother: what she was doing _mattered_. It was an important contribution to the war. And she was one of the few people who could or would do it.

With renewed determination, she ducked under her bed to scoop up Arnold. Her parents would bring this up again; they weren't the type to leave it for an hour before she was set to leave. And when they did, she'd be ready.

They didn't bring up the subject at dinner that night. Bill came home with her father from work, and Fred, George, and Fleur Apparated to join them for dinner, to celebrate Ginny coming home. It was raucous, and cheerful, and Ginny felt happier than she had in months.

Friday was quiet as well. Ginny spent most of it lounging about the house, not bothering to get dressed until late in the day, working on some essays her teachers had set. Apart from the few weeks after the wedding and before school started, she hadn't been alone in the house with her parents since she was ten, the year before she started at Hogwarts. She felt out of sorts, and she thought her parents did too.

As darkness started to fall, Ginny helped her mother cook potato soup for dinner, and the conversation flowed easily between them, mostly about the twins' shop, which Ginny wanted to visit that weekend. She was close to convincing her mother that if Fred or George came to fetch her and bring her back, and that she spent the entire day in the shop with them, she'd be perfectly safe, when her father came in from work and they sat down to dinner.

Still, her parents didn't bring up the subject of her returning to school. After gulping down two servings of soup and helping to clear the table, her father asked if she wanted to play chess in the living room. She agreed, but knew her father was waiting to pounce once they were settled.

She was saved a few turns into the game when Bill burst into the house.

He didn't knock, and Ginny reacted slowly to the sight of her brother, clearly rattled, standing in their kitchen. Her mother gave a startled yelp. Something was clearly very wrong, and her breath caught. "Bill!"

Her father stood up with his wand drawn so fast he jostled their gameboard, and some pieces fell to the floor. "Bill, what did your mother and I give you when you were made prefect?" Ginny, despite the dread rising inside her, was impressed and grateful that her father was so in the habit of questioning everyone that came in the door, even his own children and wife.

"Arthur!" her mother said, almost reproachfully, but Bill responded quickly, "You sent me to visit Uncle Bilius in France, but Dad, listen, Ron was captured by the Death Eaters – Harry and Hermione, too, but they're fine, they're okay," he added hastily, as Ginny and her mother gasped in unison. "They're okay, they escaped, but the Death Eaters identified Ron, they know he's with them. You need to leave, right now. They could be coming here any minute, trying to figure out where they've gone, the Death Eaters are obviously seriously angry. Have you talked to Auntie Muriel?"

"Not for months, but she knows we're coming there if there's an emergency." Already, both her parents were on their feet, roving through the kitchen, gathering items and putting them on the table: her mother's knitting, her clock, her father's briefcase.

"Ginny, go upstairs and get your things, as much as you can fit into your bookbag," her mother said. "We have some bags packed for this already. Arthur, you go and get them, I'll finish up here."

"I'm going to tell Fred and George," Bill announced. "I'll tell them to go straight to Muriel's. Do you need any help here? I can come back."

"No, we'll be fine." Her father was halfway up the stairs already. "Mum can Apparate with Ginny; we should be able to carry everything we need. We'll meet you at Muriel's."

Ginny thundered up the stairs after her father and threw open the door to her room. Luckily, she hadn't bothered to unpack much of anything since she'd arrived the day before; she stuffed the few items strewn over her floor into her bookbag and reached under the bed for Arnold, who'd curled himself into a tight ball, frightened after her dramatic entrance.

Ginny couldn't allow herself to think of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. She was desperate for the story, and knew Bill would be peppered with questions at Auntie Muriel's – how the hell did he know this, anyway? – but for now, there was nothing to do but focus on packing as quickly as possible and helping her parents get out of the house. She couldn't help but to glance anxiously out her small window, as though expecting to see Death Eaters strolling through the backyard. She saw nothing but darkness.

Back downstairs, her mother had a bulging knapsack ready to go and was setting the dinner dishes to scrub themselves, presumably in their absence.

"Is there anything I can do to help, Mum?"

"No, no", her mother replied distractedly. "Dad should be down any second – _Arthur! – _and then we'll be ready to go. Like he said, we prepared for this weeks ago, just in case we had to leave quickly."

She heard her father on the stairs. "Molly, go!" he said. "Ginny, I'll take your bag." She pressed her bookbag and Arnold's cage into his hands, and followed her mother out to the yard.

"Hold tightly to my arm," her mother instructed, and when they reached the gate, her mother turned on the spot and pulled Ginny with her. One uncomfortable moment later, they were at Auntie Muriel's driveway. Immediately, her mother strode up the walk and let herself into the house.

"Muriel!"

Ginny looked around. She hadn't been to her great-aunt's in several years; her first thought was that it was small. Auntie Muriel lived alone, and she thought – peering from the hall into the rooms on either side of her – that Muriel's house had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. Upon which five of them were about to descend.

Before she could reach the uncomfortable end of that line of thought, Muriel appeared from her bedroom, wearing a dressing gown.

"Molly! What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I'm so sorry, Muriel, it's an emergency. Bill told us we were in danger, that You-Know-Who or Death Eaters might be coming to interrogate us. Arthur should be here any moment – yes, here he is now-" she paused to hug Ginny's father tightly, who had just come in the front door – "and Bill, Fred, and George are coming too. Bill won't be staying here," she added hastily, seeing Muriel's face grow warier, "but the five of us will, at least a little while. Is that all right?"

"I – well, of course you can stay, Molly, but – it's very late, I can't think what could possibly have been so urgent…" Auntie Muriel said, distinctly cranky, and Ginny could see her scanning her house as well, calculating the number of bodies who would soon be living there.

"Is it all right if I put these in the spare bedroom, Muriel?" her father asked, gesturing feebly at his shoulders, laden down with bags and knapsacks.

"If you must – but Molly, where do you expect everyone to sleep?" Muriel continued sharply.

"Well, I expect Arthur and I can take the spare bedroom, and Ginny, Fred, and George can sleep in the living room," her mother said. "I know it's not ideal – it will certainly be a little cramped…" Auntie Muriel scoffed loudly, but her mother persevered. "But we wouldn't ask unless we thought it wasn't safe to stay at the Burrow. Arthur and I so appreciate this."

"I need to sit down," Auntie Muriel announced. "We'd better go into the sitting room until the others get here and we find out what's going on. Ginevra, take those bags from your mother and go help Arthur get your things settled. Then put on a kettle for tea in the kitchen. I don't have enough mugs; ask your father to duplicate them."

Ginny did as she was told as Auntie Muriel eased herself into the sitting room, her mother following obediently behind her.

She had just put the water on when she heard urgent knocking on the front door. She went to answer it, but her father hurried past her, peered through the keyhole, and opened it to admit Fred, George, and Bill.

"Excellent," she said to Bill, as Fred and George were subsumed with hugs and exclamations from their mother. "Now you can tell us what's going on."

"In a second," he said shortly, and strode into the sitting room. Muriel was sitting in the armchair, looking expectant; Ginny perched on the long couch. Bill remained standing by the door. Her parents filed in, followed a moment later by Fred and George, who she assumed had deposited their belongings in the spare bedroom. They were scared. Ginny was uncomfortably reminded of the long night in Grimmauld Place when her father was in St. Mungo's; she hadn't seen the twins so solemn-eyed and still since then.

"I won't stay long," Bill said as they gathered. "I just wanted to let you know what had happened. Fleur and I were at the cottage when a house-elf brought Luna Lovegood, Mr. Ollivander, another Hogwarts student, and a goblin to our front door. They're in pretty bad shape; looks like they'd been held captive for a long time. Then Ron, Harry, and Hermione came too. The house-elf was dead. Ron and Harry are fine, but Hermione is very shaken. Ron said they'd been taken by Snatchers, recognized, and brought to Malfoy Manor. You-Know-Who was summoned, but they escaped before he came."

Bill paused, and Ginny glanced at his rapt audience. Her mother had gasped at all the appropriate moments; Fred and George were stone-faced at the news. Bill's skeleton narrative filled her with so many questions. Before, she'd known nothing about Harry, Ron, and Hermione – didn't know where they were, if they were even still alive – and while this news brought reassurance, she was still lost.

"How were they captured? Where were they? How did they escape? Who's the other Hogwarts student?" she asked, her tone sharper than she'd intended.

"I think his name is Dean; I've never seen him before. I don't know anything else. As soon as I got the general story from Ron and realized the Death Eaters know he's with Harry, I left to warn all of you."

_Dean_. She felt strangely numb hearing of his escape, and suddenly wanted to see him, desperately. She'd hardly thought of him in recent months, but suddenly missed him fiercely, his sensitive nature and his easy intimacy. She knew he hadn't returned to Hogwarts but had no idea he'd been captured. Hearing of his imprisonment and his safety in the same sentence left her bemused.

"Thank you," her mother whispered.

Bill nodded. "Of course, Mum."

"Can we see them?" Ginny asked. "How long will they stay with you?"

"Absolutely not," her mother said, at the same time as her father answered, "Of course not."

"It would be safe!" Ginny argued. "I could go with Bill with a Disillusionment Charm."

"I don't know how long they plan to stay," Bill said quickly, before their parents could deny her again. "Let's give it a few days at least, and see if things calm down. You're definitely not coming tonight."

"A goblin is at the cottage with you?" Muriel cut in, ignoring Ginny's request. "I should think that means I'll never see my tiara again. Do hide it when you go back, won't you, William? Unless he's snatched it away already."

The conversation turned toward the mystery of the goblin and Mr. Ollivander. Fred and George speculated wildly, while Bill was stoic, answering direct inquiries briefly and not participating in their guesses. Ginny was also taciturn, her mind swirling with questions she knew Bill wouldn't answer. Better to convince her parents to let her visit Shell Cottage and see them for herself. Bill refused his mug of tea, and soon after ducked into the hall to put on his traveling cloak.

"I really must get back. I'll try to communicate with you soon if I know more."

After he left, Auntie Muriel quickly retired to her room – "Ginevra, you'll wash these mugs before you go to bed, won't you?" – and her parents retired into the second bedroom immediately after, leaving Ginny and her brothers alone.

"Can't you just clean the cups for me?" Ginny asked grumpily. The twins typically steadfastly refused to perform any magic to benefit their younger siblings as a surefire way to rile them up, but without a word to her, Fred muttered "_Scourgify_" and the dregs of tea disappeared from their cups.

Ginny brought the mugs to the kitchen, not wanting to push her luck, and when she returned George had rolled out two sleeping bags. Ginny eyed the blanket on the end of the couch.

"Who gets the couch?" she said.

"We'll flip you wands for it," George said.

"Fair enough." She scanned the room – "There. Center button on that big cushion."

Fred balanced his wand on the tip of his finger and flipped it so it spun end over end, landing horizontally on the pillow and clattering off it. "Damn."

George went next. The tip of his wand met the pillow a good four inches below the large, embroidered button in the middle. He turned toward Ginny. "Just try to do better."

Ginny flipped her wand. She thought she'd won when it left her hand, but it barely reached the bottom of the pillow before skittering off the couch and onto the floor.

George celebrated, collapsing on the couch with his hands behind the head as Ginny sulkily climbed into the sleeping bag.

She thought she would get to sleep quickly – Fred and George certainly did, they were snoring in moments – but as she tried to relax, she guiltily remembered Neville. She certainly wasn't going back to Hogwarts now. She was abandoning him, leaving him to face the Carrows alone. Monday, when he'd expect to see her back at school, she'd send him a message with her fake Galleon, letting him know she was okay, but she wouldn't be able to give him any more details. Nor would he be able to tell her the happenings of the DA.

Would it be able to survive without her? She was suddenly unsure. Her own contributions were certainly valuable, but more than that, everyone else was scared, terrified of the Carrows, and required constant cajoling by Neville, Luna, and herself to carry out any kind of activity. Neville couldn't do that work by himself. She'd truly deserted him.

Spending the next five months stuck in Auntie Muriel's before her birthday seemed absolutely intolerable. _At least I'll have Fred and George for company_. It would be just like the summer, then, minus Ron – her family coming and going at all hours of the day, while she helped (she supposed) Auntie Muriel with her knitting, or listened to her complain about the _Daily Prophet_ and the Ministry, or completed endless domestic duties – Auntie Muriel's ideas about gender roles were horribly antiquated.

Maybe she could help Fred and George run their shop, at least – she'd have to ask them tomorrow how they planned to continue operations. In the meantime, she would add Neville and the DA to her list of people to fear for, her list of those she'd let down and those she couldn't help, those she had to watch from afar and stand by helplessly while they struggled.

Bitter thoughts swirling around her head, Ginny lay awake, staring at Auntie Muriel's dusty ceiling, and worried.

* * *

_Thanks for reading - I'd love to hear your thoughts!_


	3. The Battle of Hogwarts

"Molly! It's Ron! Come quickly!"

Her father's panicked voice so startled Fred that he knocked his inkpot over, dousing the order form he was filling out. He swore loudly and reached for his wand. Ginny had already rushed past him with George into the sitting room, where she met her mother at the threshold.

Her father tapped their radio with his wand and the volume increased as they filed silently into the room, Fred pounding down the hallway behind them. Mr. Ollivander sat placidly in the armchair, regarding the radio with only mild interest. Ginny wasn't sure if he was lucid – he'd had several bouts of confusion since coming to Muriel's.

"…Ministry officials are reporting several goblin casualties, and scores of injuries, including possible wizard deaths, as cleanup and rescue efforts continue. When we come back from the break, we'll have a Gringotts spokesgoblin with us to learn more about the perpetrators and what was taken. Again, this is a developing story and we'll be bringing you the news as we learn it. From the Wizarding Wireless Network, we'll be back in a moment."

Four pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Ginny's father as an advertisement for dress robes began.

"Ron, Harry, and Hermione broke into Gringotts and apparently escaped on the back of a dragon," he said shortly.

Fred laughed. "What, are you serious?"

Her mother did not. "Arthur! What…?" The strangeness of his pronouncement seemed to have left her at quite a loss for words.

Mr. Ollivander said, to the general amazement of those in the room, "So _that's_ what they were always speaking about with Griphook."

"They stopped the music hour with a breaking news report…Here, I'm sure they'll repeat it again now," her father said as a second ad wrapped up, throwing a sharp glance at Mr. Ollivander. Fred opened his mouth, presumably to press Mr. Ollivander, but closed it again as the radio host continued speaking.

"Welcome back to this Wizarding Wireless Network breaking news report. If you're just joining us, we're live at the scene of a break-in at Gringotts Bank, where the atrium has been almost completely destroyed with several casualties. Ministry officials are reporting that Undesirable Number One, that's Harry Potter, is the perpetrator of this crime, along with two unnamed accomplices. Eyewitness reports say Potter escaped on the back of a stolen dragon. Here to comment on this extraordinary breaking news story, we're joined by Bordok, a Gringotts communications official. Bordok, thanks for joining us…"

Ginny glanced around the room. Her mother's mouth was literally open. Fred and George looked deeply impressed.

"What in Merlin's name would they be doing at Gringotts? Mr. Ollivander?" her father asked the room at large. Her mother shushed him as the host kept talking.

"What can you tell us about the break-in, Bordok?"

"Obviously the incident is regrettable."

"Undoubtedly! What can you tell us about Harry Potter and his accomplices?"

"It's our policy not to comment on any details of a security incident until we ascertain its source and severity."

There was a pause before the host persevered.

"I have to say, Bordok, this seems pretty severe! Now, we're hearing some of the damage was caused by a dragon breaking through the atrium floor and crashing through the roof of Gringotts itself. In fact, we're getting dozens of owls from people who swore they saw the dragon fly away! Is that how the damage to the atrium occurred?"

"As I said, we don't comment on security incidents."

"Gringotts does have security dragons, though?"

"We don't share vault security details with the public."

"Can you tell us what was taken?"

The host continued with dedicated enthusiasm, but Bordok refused to answer whether a vault had been broken into, whose it was, or whether anything had been taken. Ginny began to lose interest, lost in this new revelation that Ron, Harry, and Hermione were still alive and were apparently engaging in cryptic and dangerous activities as a part of their quest.

She supposed she was used to this. She'd experienced enough glimpses into the trio's activities in the past nine months to understand what would happen next. Her parents would be distracted for a few days, and Fred and George would dissect it endlessly, and there'd be a boisterous Order meeting she wasn't allowed to attend, and at the end of it she'd still know nothing at all about why her friends had been where they were, or what they were doing, or whether they were still safe, or when she'd see them again.

Perhaps as a result of this bitter train of thought, she found herself surprisingly dispassionate about this new turn of events, salacious as the details were. Of course she was massively relieved to hear the three were still alive; it's just the relief was dampened by her certainty that she still knew nothing, and she was still stuck at Auntie Muriel's.

In the six weeks since they'd gone into hiding, Ginny had considered walking out the front door and finding the nearest Death Eater to abduct her more times than she could count. To say she was stir-crazy was a terrific understatement; from Auntie Muriel's constant nagging to the extremely close quarters, the last month had left her constantly irritable and decidedly uncooperative.

The situation had become even more precarious since Mr. Ollivander had arrived a few weeks before. Her parents had gamely offered to give up their room to him, given his still apparent fragility, but he had insisted on refusing their offer. They'd been in the process of hanging up a curtain for privacy, effectively dividing the living room in half, before Muriel, in a surprisingly generous turn, had offered to share her own bedroom. A few surprisingly simple incantations later, Mr. Ollivander had a semipermanent wall cornering off one section of her large bedroom. He split his time between his bed and the armchair in the siting room, still very much recovering, and seemed content to spend most of his waking hours watching the Weasleys come and go around him, rarely contributing to conversation.

Fred and George apparently agreed with Ginny's assessment of the radio report. Immediately after the painful radio interview concluded, they stood up together.

George said, "We're going to finish up those orders before Auntie Muriel gets home."

Fred added, "We'll definitely try for a Potterwatch episode soon, Mr. Ollivander. Would you come on as a guest and talk about what you know?"

Mr. Ollivander shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know anything, boys. At Shell Cottage, those three spent quite a lot of time in Griphook's room – Griphook was imprisoned with us. I spent most of my time in my room, I'm afraid – Fleur mentioned it only when she brought my food."

Fred looked disappointed. "If you remember anything else and want to join us to speculate, let us know. Coming, Gin?"

"Definitely."

The one bright spot of her imposed isolation was helping Fred and George run Weasley's Wizard Wheezes from Auntie Muriel's house. It was a convoluted process that involved sending exchanging multiple owls each day with their friend Lee, who was managing the shop in their absence. Based off the inventory reports he included, they filled out order forms with their suppliers, answered correspondence with customers, and – as always – continued testing and perfecting new products, though their ability to acquire samples and necessary supplies was essentially compromised.

Auntie Muriel, of course, hated the whole proposition, which Ginny figured had more to do with the disrepute of owning a joke shop than the actual inconvenience it imposed on her. When compared with the hassle of five extra people living in her very small house, the few extra owls flying about and the occasional minor magical mishap seemed inconsequential, but not to Muriel.

Consequently, her brothers tried to squeeze as much shop business as they could in the hours when Muriel was out of the house. Today, she'd gone grocery shopping. She bemoaned it, but couldn't deny it was safest for her to go out in public for something as quotidian as shopping, even though she was buying an order of magnitude more food than she ever had before.

Fred and George took pity on Ginny and let her help them, doing basic supply computations and brainstorming new promotional materials. There wasn't enough work for all three of them – there were still _so_ many hours left in the day – but she appreciated they were making the effort. Their eternal optimism also gave her hope; they clearly thought their exile would end in the near term, and they could return to their shop. That cheered Ginny more than anything else.

From the spare bedroom, she could hear her parents still listening to the radio, undoubtedly hoping for any additional crumbs of information.

"Gringotts, eh, Fred?" George said.

"Yeah, what do you reckon?"

"So we know they're on a quest or some shit," George said. "Obviously breaking into Gringotts is really risky, they had to have known there's a good chance they'd get caught…"

"You'd think it'd be one of the last things they'd do," agreed Fred. "I thought the same thing."

"I wonder how we'd know if they finish, though? Obviously they can't come out of hiding."

"They could get into contact with us though – let us know what they did, so the Order can help…"

"Fuck, guys, this again?" Ginny was surprised by how angry she sounded. "You had this _exact_ conversation after they escaped from the Malfoys."

"I mean, we didn't know anything about what they were up to at Easter," George said amiably. "Just that they'd had a run-in with Snatchers."

"I heard you ramble on about how we'd know when they'd finished their quest for literally hours," Ginny snapped. "And you spend whole bloody episodes on your stupid theories on _Potterwatch. _Give it a rest, will you?"

Without waiting for a reply, she left the bedroom. In this fucking matchbox of a house, she had nowhere else to go. Not the kitchen – Auntie Muriel kept her trapped in there often enough as it was. Defeated, she headed back to the sitting room, where the WWN host was still repeating his talking points. Harry Potter, Undesirable Number One, had broken into Gringotts and stolen a dragon. They didn't know what he'd been trying to do. Goblins had been killed when the dragon broke through the atrium floor.

She sat on the couch and stared at nothing. She could feel her parents looking at her, but they kept silent. A Ministry official was speculating Harry might be planning to use the dragon to attack the Wizarding public, and urged listener vigilance.

The minutes moseyed slowly along. Every time Ginny felt calmer, she realized she was waiting for _nothing_, that she was sitting on the couch doing nothing in anticipation of nothing, and her fury and helplessness flooded back, so strong she felt angry tears prick her eyes.

She heard the pecking in the kitchen all the way from the sitting room. Regular owls to the house knew to head to the back kitchen window or face Muriel's wrath. She hurried into the hall before her parents reacted, figuring it must be an Order owl, wondering if she could open it without her parents noticing, distracted as they were.

To her surprise, two owls waited on the windowsill, impatiently jostling each other as they waited to be admitted. The first was addressed to Ratatouille, so she assumed it was a Potterwatch owl for Fred and George. The second was unaddressed. That probably meant it was an Order owl, but – as she planned to tell her parents – how was she to know it wasn't actually for her?

The message was just two words: _8 PM. _

Several hours later, her parents left the house as Lee arrived, in accordance with the owls' messages. Her mother had actually seemed relieved when George mentioned the twins planned to skip the emergency Order meeting to record an emergency episode of Potterwatch.

"Ginny, I don't want you on the air," she warned as they hugged in the hall. Any time anyone left these days, even for the most mundane tasks, it involved a time-consuming ritual of goodbye hugs and whispered warnings to stay safe.

Ginny didn't respond, knowing full well she planned to harangue Fred, George, and Lee into letting her join in one of their segments. Her previous irritation with them had evaporated; they hadn't recorded Potterwatch when she'd been around for weeks, and she was excited despite herself. Besides, like so many of her flashes of temper in the last few weeks, it had been short-lived and, in hindsight, irrational.

"We'll still be a while before we start recording," Fred said to her once her parents had shut the door behind them, settling down with George and Lee in the living room. "Why don't you make us all some tea, _Ginevra_?"

She threw the object nearest at hand at him. It was just a pillow, but Fred's instinctive deflection of it redirected it to the end table. A figurine fell to the floor and smashed. Ginny stared at it in horror, hoping Auntie Muriel hadn't heard it from her bedroom, where she'd retired after coming home and ordering Ginny to put away the groceries. "_Reparo,_" Fred muttered, and the figurine immediately righted itself.

Yet another example of the close and unfamiliar quarters they occupied.

The magic required to put Potterwatch on the air was startlingly advanced. Ginny could barely follow the complex chain of spells Lee and the twins cast to find and select an available frequency, password-protect it, and amplify their voices. She wondered idly how they'd even managed it; surely there weren't many resources available on how to bootleg an audio production.

"Can I join one of your segments?" Ginny asked. "I could be Rhodedendron! Or Rouge!"

"We'll be speculating wildly, you know," George told her seriously.

"Rambling on for the whole bloody episode with our stupid theories," Fred added.

"Hardly worth your time. Maybe you should even leave the room." Lee caught on quickly.

"Oh, shut up." She paused. "Mum won't even be listening – she'll never know. And then the DA will know I'm all right."

George looked like he was weakening. Immediately, Ginny pressed her advantage. "Just let me give a quick shoutout to the DA at the end! Obviously I won't call them out by name, just the Hogwarts resistance."

George finally relented. 'Fine. Last segment only. And watch what you say – we're completely live."

"Yes!" Excitement bloomed. "You three are the best."

Fred and George were about to introduce her when it happened. In the pocket of her sweater, something burned.

She kept the coin there out of habit these days. The messages she could receive were frustratingly primitive; they'd developed a basic alphabet system out of the false serial numbers, but could only transmit a few letters at a time. When her coin changed these days, it was only with dates and times for Hogwarts activities she couldn't participate in.

She took it out of her pocket out of habit. Then she did a double take. She was trying to work out the letters in her head when she heard Lee say, "Rhodedendron, are you there? Can you give us an update on the Hogwarts resistance?"

"Uh, of course," she said, trying to recover. "Thanks, River." Her mind was blank, and she scrambled for what she had planned to say. "For those Potterwatch listeners who have already left Hogwarts, remember the students still there working to undermine You-Know-Who. There are children who are literally being tortured. These students are interacting with Death Eaters every day. I think I speak for all of us when I say we owe them so much, and we're all rooting for them."

"Right you are, Rhodedendron," Lee said. "Wise words we should all take to heart. From all of us here at Potterwatch, stay safe, and we'll see you next time. The next program's password will be _Dobby_, that's _Dobby_, folks."

The moment Lee stopped the broadcast, Ginny was across the room, rummaging through her backpack to find the simple chart to decode the coin.

"Fucking hell," she said, heart beating fast, after a moment's work. "Neville says to come back to Hogwarts."

She was about to say more – Fred and George were looking at her, totally nonplussed – when her coin warmed again in her hand, with a new message. "Hold on," she said, rapidly cross-checking the numbers. "Harry is back. We're fighting."

"Wait. What _exactly_ does the message say?" Fred asked.

"The first one just said _FIGHT._" She eyed their skeptical faces. "But Neville just sent a second one! _HARRY_."

There was a pause. "That's not very specific," Lee said tentatively.

"Neville and I talked about it, months ago! When we thought Harry might be coming back to Hogwarts. We thought, because of how bad things are, when he came back he'd be ready to fight the Carrows. We agreed we'd send a message through the coins, _exactly _this message, do you see yet? We have to go now! Harry is back at Hogwarts!"

"Ginny…" George said slowly. She was about to turn on him, a speech forming quickly in her mind about what they were _really_ doing for the Order, how they could check their own coins if they didn't believe her, how if they cared about fighting You-Know-Who they would stop arguing with her, when Fred hastily cut in.

"How will we get into the castle, Gin? You said all the passageways are sealed."

"I…don't know," she admitted, momentarily stumped.

"Right," George said. "Obviously this is really important. Let's send word to the Order meeting. They can get in contact with McGonagall and find out what's happening…"

Impatience exploded in her, but before she could argue, her coin burned once more.

"Wait a moment," she said, peering at it. "There's one more message…" After a moment's deciphering, she said, "_HOG'S HEAD. _The bar in Hogsmeade? What could that mean?"

Lee looked blank, but Fred shifted uncomfortably. "Aberforth Dumbledore is the barman at the Hog's Head," he admitted. "Dumbledore's brother. He's in the Order; George and I have never met him, he doesn't get out much."

To Ginny, this cemented her conviction of the accuracy and urgency of Neville's message. "That must be how we get into the castle, then! Dumbledore's brother must know a way."

"It sounds reasonable," Fred said to George. "We could go and scout it out at least…see if it's urgent. Contact the Order from there. We could contact the rest of the DA too, they'd want to know. Angelina keeps hounding us for details on Harry and Ron," he added as an aside to Ginny.

Ginny stood up, still holding the coin in her hand. Her brothers stood too. "I'm going to tell Muriel where we're going, so she can tell the Order in case –" George cut himself off. "In case we can't get word to them," he amended quickly.

"I think I'll go back to my place to get my coin," Lee said. "Then I'll find Angelina, she can get word to Katie and Alicia. Fred, once you find out what's going on, use the coins if you want us to come, we'll track down as many DA members as we can."

Despite her admonitions to hurry, Ginny felt overwhelmed. Less than five minutes ago, she'd been listening to her brothers and Lee discuss Harry's Gringotts escape on Potterwatch, trying not to sink back into her earlier irritation, knowing she wouldn't see Harry, Ron, or Hermione for months, still. Now, she was faced with the prospect of seeing them in moments, of some sort of Hogwarts showdown, of finally learning what the hell was going on.

She walked out the front door with the others, and watched Lee Disapparate in front of her once they passed the gate bordering the front yard. She slipped her hand through George's arm, clutching tightly to his forearm, ready for Side-Along Apparition. Ready for anything.

George turned on the spot, and she felt herself sucked through time and space, and all she could think of was how happy she was to be leaving Auntie Muriel's, and how she wished she'd given her parents a proper goodbye when they'd left, and not secretly rolled her eyes over her mother's shoulder as she'd been gathered into a hug.

* * *

_I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter! Additionally, if you're into character explorations of Ginny, I encourage you to check out my oneshot _Enveloped_ \- it's an M-rated, lemony story about her relationship with Dean in Half-Blood Prince, culminating in one attempt to find a private space during a Hogsmeade weekend._


	4. Dumbledore's Army Reborn

They'd had terrible trouble finding a place to talk, because they'd agreed they should use the Room of Requirement only sparingly. Since Malfoy and therefore the rest of the You-Know-Who sympathizers at Hogwarts knew it existed, it was too easy to imagine the Carrows' cronies cornering them as they left, or even the entrance being watched on a regular basis.

Paranoia came to Ginny so easily after a second summer living in Order headquarters, particularly after the wedding, when Death Eaters had literally stood watch at their gate. Her father had promised that their protective enchantments would safeguard them from even the most sensitive Hypersensory Charm, but still…

The Muffliato spell, which Ron had taught her over the summer, worked well enough even against Hypersensory Charms – they'd checked – but meeting with Luna and Neville in any public space would certainly draw attention from the former Inquisitorial Squad members who knew they'd been part of Dumbledore's Army.

As such, they tried to keep their meetings extremely brief. It helped that Ginny and Luna shared sixth year NEWT lessons in Charms and Potions, and Ginny and Neville could speak relatively openly in the Gryffindor common room, so she could act as a sort of go-between and limit the number of times they had to be seen together in public.

Tonight, though, they were making an exception, meeting in the library at an empty table. Though the room was largely deserted this early in the term, Ginny kept an eye out for Slytherins or unknown students sidling near them.

"We agree we need to restart Dumbledore's Army," Neville began abruptly, continuing the conversation they'd had in parts over the last few days. "I can think of a couple of questions. How will we recruit new members? Do we want to have regular meetings? And I think we need to move beyond Defense Against the Dark Arts training, there are so many things to tackle."

"I just don't see any way we can have regular meetings," Ginny said. "We can't use the Room of Requirement. And we can't risk getting caught like last time. Umbridge was batshit, but she wasn't a Death Eater."

"I think we should have underground Muggle Studies lessons," Luna said quietly.

Ginny looked at her, contemplative. They were two weeks and three Muggle Studies lessons into the term. The first one, on her first day back at school, had shown her immediately how different Hogwarts would be this year.

Carrow had begun the class by asking how many students knew a Muggle. After a few students tentatively raised their hands, they spent the rest of the period dissecting the Muggles' behaviors to demonstrate their inferior intellect and primitive standards of living. Demelza and Ginny had exchanged one horrified look after the other in the first several minutes, but within ten minutes Carrow had caught two Hufflepuff sixth years snickering over something Carrow had said.

She'd made both of them stand beside their desks and lay their hands down flat, before sharply flicking her wand. With each flick, the boys recoiled in pain, their knuckles swollen and red, as though something heavy had been slapped across them.

After that, Carrow had told the class she expected unrelenting attention from them, and Demelza and Ginny hadn't dared look at each other the rest of the class.

She was shaken the rest of the day, hardly eating anything, thinking of Hermione and Dean, wondering if Harry would have argued with Carrow, hating herself for her own silence.

The moment she'd walked into the common room that night after dinner, Neville had beckoned to her from the staircase that led to the dormitories. She stole a look around the common room to see if anyone would notice her slip up the stairs after him – undoubtedly they would, but rumors about her hooking up with Neville weren't the worst thing for DA cover, all things considered, she reflected later.

In the seventh-year boys' nearly deserted bedroom, Neville and Seamus told Ginny they wanted to restart Dumbledore's Army. The next day, when Ginny had been about to broach the subject with Luna, Luna had beaten her to it with her own suggestion.

"Muggle Studies is a great idea," Ginny said now to Luna. "My class mostly treats Muggle Studies like a joke – not to Carrow's face, obviously – but none of us take it seriously because we know it's just propaganda. For a pureblood first or second year, though…I mean, so many of them have never even met a Muggle before."

"I expect it will be quite dangerous," Luna said, her face suddenly reflective. "But I think spreading the truth is the most important thing the DA ought to be doing. Daddy and I agreed before I left that we'd both focus on it."

"How will we find younger students?" Ginny said. "Obviously it will be incredibly risky…"

"Michael has a second year sister," put in Luna, "and Terry has a younger brother as well. I know those two and Anthony will want to be part of anything we do."

"It's definitely a place to start," Neville said. "I just worry that siblings of DA members aren't students who are likely to need real Muggle Studies, are they?"

"Ideally we'd have a larger reach," agreed Ginny. "Maybe Colin or Dennis have ideas. I think we do need to start really small, though. I wonder if we should plan to meet in small groups in our common rooms. We could coordinate plans."

"That's probably the safest location," said Neville. "You or I could do them for Gryffindor, Luna, you could do Ravenclaw… I wonder if Ernie would be willing for Hufflepuff, honestly I don't see Hannah or Susan being that interested in leading something like this."

"I haven't taken Muggle Studies before this year," Luna said. "I have read quite a few Muggle novels though, they can be quite fascinating, really inventive! But I don't know how we'll find material to cover, I think most of the books on Muggles have been removed from this library."

"The bookshop in Hogsmeade?" Ginny suggested. "We can buy some and camouflage them before we take them back into school. That's a good goal timeline for us too, I think. Aiming to have this ready to go by the middle of October."

Behind Neville, Madam Pince was striding purposefully toward them, usual sour expression on her face, and Ginny glanced at her watch. The library was closing in ten minutes. She hastily performed the Muffliato countercharm and looked at Luna.

"Thanks for the Potions help, Luna! I don't think I would try for a NEWT if it wasn't for you." She began packing her bag, and heard the others silently begin to do the same.

Madam Pince changed direction.

"Talk to the Ravenclaws about Muggle Studies," she whispered to Luna. "I'll talk to Ernie."

* * *

Their first Dark Arts lesson had been almost worse than Muggle Studies. Carrow had informed them they'd start the term with a unit on pain spells – "The Cruciatus Curse being illegal, of course", he'd added, leering at them, "but there are other ways to cause pain, aren't there? Lots of room for creativity, huh?"

The DA clearly needed to be reevaluated. While Umbridge's lessons had been excruciatingly boring, Ginny's classmates absorbed nothing of _Defensive Magical Theory_, despite mindlessly copying passages. The DA had replaced their lack of practical Defense Against the Dark Arts studies. The Carrows, on the other hand, were thorough, interactive teachers, insistent on ensuring their lessons were drilled into every student.

Rather than _replacing _class, the DA needed to _counteract _it. And that, Ginny reflected, required a wholly different approach.

So far she'd kept her head down – wouldn't her mother be proud? – but only to more easily facilitate future action. She knew, as a Weasley, she was already under suspicion, so she figured it was better to lay low and operate as furtively as possible, to maximize her usefulness. Harry would never have understood, but then again, Harry wasn't here, he didn't have to survive the whole year, and she did.

That was about to change.

"Let's tell people about the DA," Luna whispered to Ginny one day in Charms.

Ginny glanced sharply at her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Let's tell people about the DA," she repeated placidly. "So people know we're doing something."

Ginny said nothing. She found patience a highly valuable tool when speaking with Luna. Luna's contributions to DA planning, while usually non sequiturs, were almost always followed by some sort of coherent plan. Luna simply tended to assume everyone else was already connecting the dots in the same way she was.

Neville would probably break in with the obvious about why they had to keep their identities secret, which would sidetrack Luna and derail the conversation, but if she just waited…

"We could put up a giant sign saying _Dumbledore's Army_?" Luna continued. "Other students wouldn't be able to join us, but they'd know we exist. Also, I just found some Dabberblimp eggs, once they hatch, Dabberblimp slime can be a really powerful magical sealant, they'd have real trouble getting it off the walls."

Ginny couldn't help herself. "Where are you trying to hatch Dabberblimps?"

"Oh, they're on my windowsill in a fishbowl. They live in the lake, but I was able to collect some samples a few days after we got back."

Dabberblimps notwithstanding, Ginny had to admit it was a good idea. "Maybe something like _We Are Dumbledore's Army_, though. And maybe we should paint it on a wall, rather than a sign – that way we wouldn't have to carry around or store anything."

"Oh yes, just like the Heir of Slytherin in our first year," Luna said, "only he used blood, didn't he? I can do it with my wand, I paint everything at home, that would probably be less gruesome."

Nobody ever mentioned the Heir of Slytherin in front of Ginny, but bringing up uncomfortable subjects was one of Luna's specialties, as Ginny well knew.

"I'll talk to Neville," Ginny promised. "This is something we can do really quickly. Maybe tomorrow or the day after, even!"

It had been an additional week since their first meeting in the library, and they'd made frustratingly slow progress. Ernie had cheerfully agreed to host putative Muggle Studies lessons in the Hufflepuff common room, and had even received an O in his Muggle Studies O.W.L., which he'd managed to slip immediately into his muttered conversation with Ginny.

He'd promised to sketch some basic lessons, but hadn't contacted them again with any solid plans, and Ginny hated to initiate contact needlessly. She'd give him another week, at least, and then gently suggest their Hogsmeade idea.

"Put the time on the coins," Luna said. "I'll meet you at the steps down to the Great Hall. Oh! What if we put it on the steps themselves? One of those murals you can see when you're at the bottom."

"Maybe in more than one place," Ginny mused. "I'll talk to Neville and let you know. Tell the other Ravenclaws to ignore their next coin notification – we definitely don't all need to be in the halls for this."

* * *

"The way I see it, we have three aims," Ginny said to Neville in an isolated corner of the Gryffindor common room a few weeks later, Muffliato charm safely cast. "First, Muggle Studies. We're already working on that. Second, to promote wider dissension in the school, to show people that not everyone is succumbing to the Death Eaters. Third, to help Harry and the wider You-Know-Who resistance."

She found it ridiculous Neville didn't officially know about the Order, given his parents, but even she didn't dare to do something as consequential as share its existence without explicit permission.

"Sure," Neville agreed.

"We're doing really well on aims one and two. We haven't touched aim three."

"Oh, I meant to tell you," Neville said, ignoring her aims, "Obviously our first message was great, I heard so many people talking about it, but I had this great idea for a flier, letting people know how they can be involved, you know? Obviously we'd distribute them anonymously, maybe in the common rooms again. It wouldn't be _that_ specific and it wouldn't be linked to us. But it could have a wider scope."

"What sort of involvement?"

"Really simple stuff, like a list. One, Remember Death Eaters are running Hogwarts, two, Harry Potter is still fighting and so can you, three, give the Carrows hell."

"It's a good concept," Ginny said. "Definitely a bit wordy to put on the wall. And a flier is more durable, it won't get siphoned off the wall in three seconds." She hesitated for a moment, wanting to talk about her own idea but worried she'd hurt Neville's feelings. He immediately smiled, full of chagrin, and she felt a wave of affection for him – he was _so_ much more perceptive than he'd used to be.

"Sorry, what were you saying about the aims?"

"I have an idea to help Harry, Ron, and Hermione."

"Oh?"

"This summer, Rufus Scrimgeour came to our house. Dumbledore left stuff to the three of them in his will. It was all really weird shit too, he left Harry a Snitch – well, it's not important, but he also left Harry the Sword of Gryffindor."

Neville's eyebrows furrowed. "Seriously?"

"Yeah…and Scrimgeour wouldn't give it to him. Said it belonged to the school."

"Why does he need it?"

"No idea. I told you they wouldn't tell me anything about where they were going. I just know they're not on the run. They're doing something important, something Dumbledore asked them to do. And if Dumbledore thought Harry needed the Sword…"

"…Then he probably needs the Sword," finished Neville, nodding very fast, eyes beginning to alight. "We need to find it for him."

"I know where it is. The headmaster's office." She'd seen it there after her father had been attacked.

"We need to steal it, then," Neville said immediately, with finality.

"There's no other way," she agreed grimly. Once she realized the obvious necessity of acquiring the Sword, she'd spent the better part of the last few days attempting to identify a method of obtaining the Sword that was a little more sophisticated than (somehow) breaking into Snape's office and (somehow) stealing it from under his nose before (the biggest somehow of all) getting it to Harry.

"Okay, we can do this, though!" Neville said. He was clearly excited, and Ginny was too, despite herself. This wasn't small-stakes, petty vandalism. Success would mean forcing her way into the Order, forcing them to respect her, her underage achievements. She wasn't held captive by her parents in her own home anymore, forced to wait in the kitchen with her mother or upstairs, hidden from view.

Dumbledore's Army was back.

Ginny relayed messages with rapidly increasing frequency and intensity over the following few weeks. She was so practiced at Muffliato she could cast it nonverbally without thinking. Passing along so many messages certainly took its toll on Ginny; she felt constantly than even one neglected relay could have critical consequences. Obviously, she couldn't write them down, but lately, even just a few weeks into the term, she felt as though classwork and DA business leaked out of her mind at an alarming rate, and she was petrified something might slip through the cracks.

As October began and the first Hogsmeade weekend was announced, she, Neville, and Luna decided to put off the fliers, choosing instead to focus on the Sword and Muggle Studies lessons.

Ernie had sketched out a few plans, and Ginny had to give him credit: they were detailed and thoughtful. They were also incredibly complex. Ginny, like her brothers and most Hogwarts students, had always assumed Muggle Studies were a bit of a joke, and perhaps they were to everyone but Ernie. She barely understood his from-memory battery diagram, and certainly couldn't explain it, nor could she quite decipher his explanation of electricity, despite having heard her father espouse its merits more times than she could count.

More to the point, she felt Ernie had _slightly_ misunderstood their intentions in providing underground lessons.

Therefore, Luna had recruited Anthony, Terry, and Michael to shop for books on Muggles and books written by them, which Ginny thought the Hogsmeade bookshop kept in a novelty corner. Susan and Hannah had also agreed to participate in the scheme. That left Ginny and Neville to round out the book purchasers. Then, they agreed, the Muggle Studies reeducation campaign could begin in earnest.

Planning for their Sword mission had not been quite as smooth, but that was probably because none of them had come up with any brilliant tactics to ensure the operation's success. She, Neville, and Luna had agreed the sensitive nature of their goal meant no one else should be involved in this activity of Dumbledore's Army.

Indeed, Ginny was confident more people involved would only have made the situation worse, because so far they intended to wait until the middle of the night, sneak out, appeal to the guard statue's sense of allegiance to the school, take the sword, and walk out of the office. Not precisely, Ginny reflected, an inspired, foolproof plan.

Whenever she considered abandoning it, calling Neville and Luna off – every time she wondered if it was arrogance, a desire to prove herself to her parents or to the Order or to Ron, Harry, and Hermione – she thought of the undisputable fact that Dumbledore left Harry the Sword because he needed it. No one else was inside Hogwarts. No one else could get it for him.

And that meant they had to try.

"We will _not_ be able to _talk_ our way past that statue," Ginny said emphatically to Luna, the day before the Hogsmeade visit. "We have to find out the password."

"Then we ought to keep watch in the corridor," Luna said. "We'll take it in shifts, when we can. We'll learn it when anyone goes up to the office, including Snape himself. Once we learn it, we act as soon as possible, before they have time to change it. That night."

"I wonder if we should cast a Disillusionment Charm before we stake it out," said Ginny thoughtfully. "Maybe that would just draw more attention to us if we were noticed."

Not to mention, she'd only seen the Disillusionment Charm performed, but didn't know how to cast it herself. _More hours spent in the library_, she thought wearily, thinking of a mounting pile of homework she'd received that day.

"I'm not sure Disillusionment Charms are that effective, since many people are so sensitive to wrackspurt auras," Luna said. "There's a very good chance anyone walking by would notice us just from that."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Ginny said, though she was agreeing mostly with her own thoughts and not with Luna's wrackspurt theory. "We can just dawdle at the end of the corridor with a Hypersensory Charm. I'll tell Neville, but just go when you can, okay? If you find out the password, send us a message with the coins, and we'll meet you that night. Keep an eye out for the same message from one of us."

Ginny spent the day trying incessantly to come up with any element of the plan to make it safer or more likely to work. They hoped Alohomora would work to unlock Snape's office door; if it didn't, Luna was going to try and pick it. If Snape was already inside, or if they couldn't get the door open…Ginny couldn't think that far ahead, because she knew that would be unanswerably disastrous.

Still, in every quiet moment, her mind returned to the problem, churning through and discarding endless possibilities, trying to think of anything.

It was hard not to feel like they were setting themselves up for failure. The plan wasn't half-baked or rushed – they'd spent a lot of time working on it. It was just _bad_.

As it happened, discovering the password for the headmaster's office took longer than they'd anticipated. Ginny spent her share of hours loitering at the end of the hallway. She saw Snape leave once, but no one ever went up.

Neville finally succeeded after nearly three weeks of shifts. Ginny was attempting to write an essay in the common room with Demelza, but in actuality she and Demelza were playing with Arnold, who was squeaking ferociously while attacking Ginny's quill. She felt the coin burn inside the pocket of her robes and had to stop herself from immediately plunging her hand in to retrieve it.

She saw Neville clamber through the portrait hole a moment later, out of breath. She caught his eye and he nodded.

It would be tonight.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. _


	5. The Wedding

She saw Harry Disapparate.

She heard Hermione screaming for Ron, and she saw Ron rushing toward the pair of them, and then she saw Harry Disapparate.

She knew, immediately, she would not see him again for months, or even years. She might not see him again at all. She had not said goodbye. She had left so many things unsaid.

Hours later, when she and her family were inside the Burrow, she pictured it, pressed her palms to her eyelids, tried to make the memory indelible in her mind: Harry's face, scanning the crowd, eyes tense and fearful, mouth taught and severe, before she lost sight of him as Hermione pulled him away.

She preferred to remember him as he'd looked after she'd kissed him for the last time – vaguely bemused but clearly thrilled, a self-satisfied half-smile on his lips. She knew she wouldn't. That was the Harry she loved, but this was the Harry she would remember.

She would fear for Ron and Hermione, but Harry's face would haunt her.

She and her family were interrogated briefly and separately. Had she seen Harry Potter? No, not since she'd left Hogwarts for the summer holiday. Had Potter contacted her? No, but she and Harry had never written letters to each other. Was he planning on visiting them this summer? Not as far as she knew.

She hadn't recognized the Death Eater, but he was professional and curt. In fact, she wasn't sure he even was a Death Eater; she was fairly certain he wasn't one of the masked figures to appear among the wedding crowd. She thought he'd come later, as a Ministry official. He might have been under the Imperius Curse.

She was told they were looking for Harry Potter. They'd been informed he may be at the wedding, and had felt it prudent to carry out a surprise raid. Her family was not under investigation. Her family was free to go about their business. They were to inform the Ministry immediately if Harry Potter contacted them.

She thought some of the others – Bill, her parents – may have been under more pressure, and been questioned more thoroughly. Her mother looked shaken. She knew none of them had been hurt; they'd all been questioned in turn in the sitting room, while a Ministry official and cloaked Death Eater kept watch over them in the garden. It was warm and the Death Eater was clearly uncomfortable, uncomfortably adjusting his heavy clothes.

When the officials left, two remained at the gate in the front yard. Their lack of subtlety scared her. They were being watched openly. Her father cast a quick, silent charm that had no visible effect, but he explained a moment later: "We can talk freely now. Even if they cast a Hypersensory Charm from the gate, they shouldn't be able to hear us, but please be thoughtful."

Bill and Fleur left quietly. Her mother was disappointed; they'd planned to the minute their departure, which was meant to be in front of an adoring audience, with flower petals raining softly over the couple as they'd walked to the gate. Instead, only their family and the Delacours remained – minus Ron and Percy. The pair hugged each of them in turn and left. The Delacours left shortly after. Her mother apologized profusely for the unhappy end of the reception; Fleur and her own mother apologized in turn for all the trouble Ginny's mum had gone to, only to have it spoiled in the end. They agreed they were just happy no one had been hurt.

Darkness fell, and the Death Eaters left the gate. "We're definitely still being watched," her father said dubiously.

"I think_ they'll_ try to contact us, Arthur," her mother said in an undertone.

"They know better than to do that…I don't think we can risk sending them a message."

"I don't think the Death Eaters will come back," Fred put in. "Then they'd confirm they're still monitoring us – they must know we suspect it, but they'd rather catch us out doing something damning, and they won't be able to tell where the message is going if you use a Patronus."

"If the Death Eaters do come back, we were sending a message to Percy," her mother said firmly. "In case he'd heard about the raid, we wanted to tell him everyone was safe."

"Much, much better than if they tried to send a message to us," George agreed.

So convinced, her father sent a message to Ron, Harry, and Hermione: _Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched._

"Do you think they're coming back?" Charlie asked the room at large.

"No," Ginny said, and everyone turned to look at her.

"They aren't," she said. "Hermione had all their supplies – tent, clothes, everything. In case they needed to run. Undetectable Extension Charm on her bag," she added, precipitating Fred's question.

Charlie nodded. "Bill said they weren't going back to Hogwarts. Some kind of quest?"

"They wouldn't tell us anything else," her mother said. "Just that Dumbledore left it for them."

"We agreed once they left, once they didn't show up at school, it probably wouldn't be safe for them to stay in contact with us," her father confirmed. "But this is obviously earlier than we expected."

Ginny stood up and left the room.

She thought she heard her mother react to the news Ron wasn't coming back – apparently, she hadn't known they weren't planning to keep in contact – but she didn't turn.

She tried to keep control of her face on the stairs, in case someone came after her. No one did. By the time she reached the threshold of her bedroom, her face was twisted, and she was gasping, and tears were overflowing from her eyes.

She was an expert at silently crying; she had to be, living in the Burrow and in the cramped Hogwarts dormitories. Silent sobbing was an ugly business; in an effort to control damning, heaving sobs, her face contorted grotesquely.

She'd seen them Disapparate, but that didn't mean they were safe. They might already be dead. Maybe she ought to return downstairs – undoubtedly, her mother had turned on the radio to a Wizarding news network. Surely they would report on the death of Harry Potter or his accomplices? She just didn't know.

She knew the fight against You-Know-Who had shifted imperceptibly after Dumbledore's death, but it was hard to tell how or to what extent, cooped up in the Burrow all summer, shooed to her room whenever Order members came to discuss business.

She knew it had shifted monumentally this afternoon, if the Ministry was now controlled by You-Know-Who. But – and this was the most frustrating part – she didn't know what any of it _meant_. She didn't know how it impacted her family, or the Order, or Harry's celebrity. Was going on the run an unnecessary precaution, or would he have been arrested on the spot or worse if he'd stayed at the wedding?

Impulsively, from her half-horizontal position on her bed, she threw a book from her bedside table hard at the wall. The thump was louder than she anticipated, and she listened intently for a moment to hear the telltale creak, meaning one of her parents was coming upstairs to check on her. She hastily wiped her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. She did not, as a rule, cry in front of people, but the evidence of her overwhelming bout of despair was hard to hide on short notice.

She hadn't cried in front of Harry when he broke up with her. She'd cried afterward, in her dorm room, sitting cross-legged on the bed, drapes pulled tightly so she sat in darkness. She could have gotten away with public tears; everyone else was crying over Dumbledore's funeral, and she carried that weight heavily too, but her immediate, pressing grief was for Harry and their lost relationship.

She wanted to take him at his word he wanted to be with her, but she wavered on what she believed. Believing Harry loved her was easy; it meant she could still envision a post-You-Know-Who future with him, even though that was years away. She was only sixteen; in ten years, she'd be twenty-six, still young. She still had plenty of time. She could wait.

That was the easy route.

Harder to believe was that Harry didn't actually want to be with her, that he'd used his glorious quest as an excuse to break things off, or, more charitably, he saw his quest as an opportunity to make a clean, permanent break.

When she was feeling brave, Ginny actually tried to talk herself into that explanation; the sooner she closed the door to future reunification, the sooner she could move on from him. Ever practical, she didn't want to waste time pining if there really was no hope.

The problem was, she desperately wanted to pine.

And so, through the beginning of the summer she fought with herself, talking herself into and out of various behaviors once he arrived for the wedding, knowing only that she wanted to savor every moment he was there.

And now he was gone, and she wasn't ready, and she hadn't said goodbye.

She stayed in her room the rest of the evening, playing with Arnold, trying to read a chapter of her Transfiguration textbook, trying to eavesdrop on her family downstairs without leaving her room. She slept restlessly and poorly, waking up frequently, too warm.

Charlie knocked on her door early the next morning to say goodbye.

"Don't worry about Ron," he said. "He'll be all right. He can take care of himself."

Her worry for Ron was generalized, like a persistent headache. Mourning the loss of Harry was more like the sharp pain of a toothache. She didn't feel she was adequately addressing either.

Surely there was something more productive for her to be doing than lying about her bed, staring listlessly out the window?

When she padded downstairs, she immediately regretted her momentary surge of energy. Her mother put her to work immediately, cleaning, picking up refuse from outside, stacking chairs, washing dishes. Throughout the morning, she kept glancing toward the gate, half-expecting to see either the trio returned, or a return Patronus streaking toward them, bearing information.

Nothing came.

Nothing came that night, and nothing came the next day, either.

Her parents were both distracted. Her father came home very late from the Ministry, which put her mother in an exceedingly ill temper. Fred and George had returned to their shop, so Ginny took the brunt of her mother's irritation, which escalated as it often did into a fight. Afterward, Ginny stormed up the stairs to her room, slamming her door so hard Arnold retreated under her bed. She didn't emerge the rest of the evening.

_This_, she thought to herself savagely, _is the new normal._

At least there were less than four weeks to go until school started.

Guilt flooded her immediately after the uncharitable thought; had she not just seen Ron, Harry, and Hermione for perhaps the last time? And now she was so eager to rid herself of her parents' company?

All she knew was that anything would be better than waiting here, in an empty house, for correspondence that would never come, eavesdropping fruitlessly on conversations she never understood.

Hogwarts would be better. It had to be.

* * *

_I hope this chapter was short, but evocative! This is the last chapter in this story - I have a lot more Ginny I want to write, but not within the confines of this theme. Thank you for reading and leaving your thoughts._


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